


Your Heart is an Empty Room

by starbursts_and_kisses



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbursts_and_kisses/pseuds/starbursts_and_kisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya had done a lot of foolish things in her life, but she did not expect that falling for her sister’s boyfriend would be one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Heart is an Empty Room

 

Arya stares at the gleaming marble floors of her parents’ colossal penthouse and wishes she could be anywhere but here. She hates these dinner parties. She hates all the idle chatter, the polite how-are-yous, the society ladies with their perfectly coiffed hairs and designer clothes, and the men with their tedious talks of stock market prices and Sunday golf club meetings. Everything is just so fake here, it makes her want to scream. 

From the corner of the room, she catches Bran’s eye. He stops for a moment from his conversation with an elderly matron about the merits of French history and winks at her. And for a moment, the tension in her shoulders eases and she feels like she can breathe again. 

She contemplates looking for Rickon, the only member of her pack who shares her wildness and contempt for these pointless social activities, but is saved from doing so when she sees her elder sister carefully making her way toward her, her swan-like neck and fiery red tresses shining like a beacon, making her stand out from the crowd. 

Arya is used to Sansa bringing strange men to the lavish dinner parties her parents like to host every Sunday night. They are usually handsome, over-pampered jerks with nice backgrounds and too much money on their hands. After all, her sister is nothing but meticulous when it comes to men. Each time she claims she is in love, but after a few weeks something would happen and Arya would see her with a different man on her arm. Bran, whose idea of fun is to psychoanalyze everything from random strangers to pesky neighborhood pets, likes to blame it on the trauma their sister incurred after dating Joffrey Baratheon for two consecutive years. Arya thinks he’s right. 

So when Sansa drags her from the tiny alcove she is taking refuge from and introduces her to a dashing blond man in a tuxedo, she merely shrugs and looks over at him with disinterest. 

“Hi, I’m Aegon,” her sister’s new boyfriend says, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

Arya ignores the hand, suddenly feeling irritable and high-strung for reasons she can’t comprehend, and cocks a not-so-friendly eyebrow in his direction. “Nice name,” she drawls, ignoring the warning look her sister sends her behind the guy’s back. 

Aegon Targaryen smirks at her. “Nice shoes,” he quips back, eyes zeroing in on the pair of black sneakers that Arya has unapologetically chosen to wear beneath her tight-fitting cocktail dress. On any other girl, it would have looked weird and ill fitting, but on Arya, it looked quirky. Perfect, even. “Very Zooey Deschanel meets Kristen Stewart. I like it.” 

Arya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sansa, are you sure you’re not dating Loras Tyrell?” she asks her sister. 

She ignores the surprised but amused laugh from Sansa’s new boyfriend and saunters off.  

 

* * *

  

Later that night, they meet again. He catches her right in the act of pouring a drink on someone’s face, and when her poor, unfortunate victim walks away from her, sputtering and shivering like some drowned rat trapped in the sewers, he suddenly materializes on the spot next to her, his laughter piercing the air like fireworks in the night sky. 

“Was that a Frey just now?” he asks her, strangely colored eyes dancing with amusement. 

“Yes. Care to see what happens to the next guy who pisses me off?” she snaps back, fully intending to scare him away. But if anything, her comment only makes his shoulders shake harder with laughter. 

“Oh man,” Aegon Targaryen says, grinning at her from ear to ear. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen since I saw my cousin Quent playing with fire at my aunt’s wedding a couple of months ago. What did that poor guy do to deserve your love?”

Arya shrugs. “His grandfather bullied him into talking to me. You should have heard him. He was spouting bad poetry and quoting something from _Florian and Jonquil,_ for fuck’s sake. It was terrible.” She shudders at the memory of Elmar Frey’s pinched face and hopeful expression, and snags a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray to banish the image away. 

“Sansa never told me her sister was such an interesting person.” 

Arya throws back her head and carelessly drains the contents of her drink in one gulp. “Drink enough of these,” she says, gesturing towards her empty champagne flute, “and anyone can be interesting.  Now if you don’t mind, let me take that from you.” In a lightning move, she swoops down, plucks the drink he has been absentmindedly holding in his hand for what seems like hours now, and chugs it before he has the chance to take it from her. 

Aegon blinks at her in surprise. “Hey, slow down. Aren’t you a little too young to be drinking like that?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Arya mutters with a roll of her eyes. “Parties like these are the reason why I’m an alcoholic in the first place.” 

Aegon grins at those words. “Can’t blame you there,” he mutters. “This party blows.” 

“I plan to make it better. Want to help me hijack the sound system?” 

Arya isn’t sure why she’s even offering – this is Sansa’s boyfriend, for god’s sake, and he doesn’t look like the type of guy who knows how to have fun and let loose – but she’s bored and Bran is still talking to that old lady and Rickon is nowhere to be found and Jon is thousands of miles away and Robb is wearing that “Robb the Businessman” smile and Sansa is off being, you know, _Sansa,_ and goddammit, she just feels so alone. So when Aegon Targaryen shakes his head and gives her a small, apologetic smile, she isn’t surprised, but all the same, she finds herself feeling disappointed. 

“I’d love to help,” he tells her, “But that’s not exactly the best way to get on your parents’ good graces, is it?”

 _What a pansy,_ Arya thinks to herself, her eyes internally doing a 360-degree eye roll. “Suit yourself,” she says gruffly. “If you want to get on my parents’ good side though, you should probably start by not talking to me.” 

“Seriously? Oh, c’mon. You don’t mean that.” 

But after a while, when it becomes clear that Arya is no longer in the mood to talk to him, they lapse into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by Aegon sneaking pointed looks at her every now and then. Finally, in a last-ditch effort to get her to open up again, he says, “Hey, aren’t you going to ask me how I met your sister?”

Arya smirks at him. “Why bother? You’re not going to last a week with Sansa anyway.”

 

* * *

  

She is wrong. Three and a half weeks after her parents’ dinner party, during which Arya got grounded for hogging the sound system and blaring loud, heavy metal music much to the horror and consternation of their guests, the doorbell rings. Arya dashes from her familiar spot on the couch, and when she opens the front door, there he is, standing casually next to her mother’s favorite rhododendrons, hands firmly in his pockets, that familiar lopsided smile plastered on his face. 

“Hey, Arya!” he says cheerfully, raising one hand in greeting. 

Arya blinks at him. “You’re still with my sister?” she exclaims disbelievingly. “Wow. Sansa must really like you.” 

“Good to know. ‘Cause I like her too,” Aegon tells her. “Is she here?” 

“No,” Arya grunts at him, hoping he would take the hint and go away. 

But no such luck. Instead of feeling discouraged, Aegon’s smile only brightens. “Do you know what time she’ll get back?” he asks her. 

Arya huffs, this time succeeding in letting her irritation show. “I don’t know,” she snaps at him, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him for all that he’s worth. “She’s at ballet practice, so maybe one, two hours, tops?” 

“Oh.” Aegon exhales. Then he gives her another blinding smile, one that’s meant to sway her but only ends up doing the exact opposite, and says, “Mind if I wait inside for her?” 

Arya’s response is simple. “Hell no,” she tells him right before she tries to slam the door in his face. 

But unfortunately for her, Aegon reacts just in time and wedges one foot inside the foyer, preventing her from shutting him out. “Oh, won’t you please let me in?” he begs her. 

“No way. Get lost, you big bad wolf.” 

But Aegon only sighs and with one mighty push, the door gives way and Arya finds herself half-stumbling backwards, almost colliding into the nearest coat rack in the process. She growls angrily at her unwanted visitor and thinks, _That’s it. You’re a dead man, Aegon Targaryen._  

Two hours later though, Sansa finds them playing zombie shooter games on Arya’s Xbox, and the sight of the two of them laughing and gleefully taunting each other in front of the TV is so weird it takes a moment for her to reorient herself. It’s the first time she’s ever seen her sister get along with someone who’s been linked romantically with her – more often than not, she’s busy scaring away all potential suitors in a way that Sansa would have found creepy and scary if she didn’t already have nineteen years of experience dealing with her sister. But looking at her now, no one would have been able to guess that several hours ago, all she had wanted to do was to destroy Aegon Targaryen in the most painful way possible. 

Sansa smiles secretly to herself. And that’s the moment when she realizes that she’s in love with Aegon.

 

* * *

 

One sunny day after school, Arya and Aegon’s paths cross again. This time he is driving a sleek, silver convertible that looks as though it hasn't even been out of the market yet ( _Figures that he’d have a car as shiny as his hair_ , Arya thinks irritably to herself) and when he sees Arya standing in the middle of the parking lot, looking tough and fiercely proud despite the huge cast on her leg and the crutches on her arms, he starts to laugh. 

He laughs for so long that in the end, Arya is left with no choice but to jab him with her crutches in a way that makes her look like an angry crab on steroids. 

"Ow! Stop that," Aegon grumbles. "That hurts!" 

"What are you doing here? Where's Sansa?" Arya demands to know. 

"She can't come today. She got held up at ballet practice. You know how it is," Aegon explains to her. "So she asked me to drive you home instead. Hope you don't mind." 

Arya rolls her eyes at him. "Does it look like I have a choice?" she gripes as she reluctantly opens the car door and awkwardly climbs inside. "It's either you or walking home in these stupid crutches." 

"If you're so annoyed to see me, you're welcome to take the bus.” 

"Can't. I got banned on the bus, thanks to that stunt I pulled on Lem a few months ago." 

"Who's Lem?" 

"Just about the worst driver in the history of all bus drivers." 

Aegon chuckles at her in amusement. "You're a real angel, you know that?" he quips. Then unconsciously, his eyes stray towards the cast on Arya's foot. "What happened to you anyway?" 

At the mention of her injury, Arya's face darkens. "My foot got ran over by Joffrey Baratheon's bike a couple of days ago," she finally confesses in an angry voice. 

Aegon frowns. "Seriously?" 

"Yeah. At first I got so annoyed because, really, I should have seen it coming, but it doesn't matter now," Arya says with a shrug. "I got Joffrey expelled at school. I also leaked an embarrassing video of him and now his reputation – as if he has much of a reputation to begin with – is now forever tarnished in the eyes of the entire student body. Oh, and the best part is, I may have managed to finally send him to juvie. When Sansa and my brothers hear this, they'll be so happy. Like, you know, dance-around-a-bonfire-holding-hands happy." 

There's a pause. And then finally Aegon looks at her with what appears to be grudging respect and admiration in his eyes and says, "You, Arya Stark, are the most frightening human being I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

Arya laughs. "Thank you. Let that be a warning to you. If you ever make Sansa cry, I'll ruin your life so badly Joffrey's punishment will look like a fucking picnic compared to what I'll do to you." 

They continue their banter for a few more minutes, but when they reach the highway, Aegon turns on the radio, and suddenly a song comes on. It's one of those sad, soulful songs that's probably recorded in the early ‘90s or something, but for some reason, hearing it now makes Arya smile, and all of a sudden, as though compelled by some strange force of nature, her eyes stray towards Aegon. 

He meets her gaze for a few seconds, and in those few precious seconds, she feels a sudden pull, a pull that comes from somewhere deep within her chest, a feeling as though there is something intangible hovering in the air between them, and in that exact slice of time, she finds herself connected to him in a way she has never been connected with anyone before. 

Arya closes her eyes, letting the music wash over her, and after a while, she starts to sing along. Aegon soon follows, their voices gradually growing louder and louder with every passing minute, until they are nothing but a cacophony of notes rising and falling like the crest of a wave. 

She sticks her hand out the passenger window, conscious of the wind whipping her hair and the noise rushing in her ears like soft wind chimes, and for a short moment, she feels free.

 

* * *

 

The days and weeks blur together until one day, Arya wakes up only to find out that Aegon has now become a permanent fixture in her life. He may spend his days taking Sansa out to the movies and going with her to cool frat parties and charity balls and posh art gallery openings, but on Friday nights, he is Arya's. They spend the night shooting imaginary zombies on TV, playing do-or-die Scrabble matches (a favorite pastime of Arya's, since Aegon is a sore loser and she often wins), and having impromptu dance parties in her living room, which basically consists of them bouncing on the couch like idiots and Aegon singing in the worst off-key note possible. 

From time to time, Aegon drives her home from school, some days on Sansa's behest and some days after getting a call or a text from Arya. They'd play and sing along to their favorite song on the radio, and one time when Sansa's there with them, she catches them in the middle of singing and looks at them as though they'd both grown three heads. "What's that crappy song? It sounds so weird," she'd say and complain in the front seat of the car, but no matter how many times she pleads with Aegon, he refuses to change the song. 

The final evidence of Arya's budding friendship with him comes when she finally removes the name "Sansa's Arm Candy" from her phone book and replaces it with "Egg". Because that's who he is now to her. Egg. Sansa may call him "babe" all she wants, but to Arya, he's just Egg now. 

Sansa is beside herself with happiness when she finds out that her boyfriend and her sister, two of her favorite people in the entire world, are friends now; Rickon throws a tantrum because he's jealous and too young to understand that Arya's friendship with Aegon won't mean that Arya will no longer have time for him; Jon is too far away to be available for comment; Robb is too busy with the family business to spare a thought for his sister's developing social life; and Bran... Bran keeps giving her these knowing, warning looks in true Bran-fashion, which basically just means that they're cryptic and mysterious and guaranteed to be understood by no one other than him. 

A few months from now though, Arya would wish she had put in a little more effort in understanding what her brother is trying to tell her, but by then, it would already be too late.  

 

* * *

  

Sorrow comes to her in the middle of fourth period, when news about the accident breaks out. Arya skips her next class (Calculus, which is her favorite), ignoring Wylla and Shireen’s concerned looks, and decides to just make a run for it. She runs all the way from the girls’ bathroom, past the open infirmary doors where she almost collides and shocks poor old Dr. Pycelle, past the wide soccer field and the empty school walkways, until she finally reaches the football stadium, where she collapses on top of the bleachers with a strangled cry. 

Her lungs hurt from running too fast, and her heart feels as though it is about to burst out of her ribcage, but it isn’t until she fumbles for her phone and dials the numbers she has memorized by heart that she realizes that her hands are shaking. 

But Jon won’t pick up his phone, which can only mean that he must have landed the night shift again and is now sleeping somewhere in the cold Northern barracks, desperately trying to adjust his body clock, and when Arya realizes this, she lets out a soft, shaky breath and feels herself slowly beginning to unravel. She swallows back a sob, but against her will, a few hot tears escape, and they trail useless down her cheeks, burning her like acid. 

Arya takes another deep breath, and this time, without thinking about it, she dials the only other person that comes to her mind. 

Unlike Jon, he answers on the third ring. 

“Hello?” Aegon’s familiar voice greets her from the other end of the line. 

It looks as though he’s also in the middle of class – she can hear muted laughter in the background, and the sound of someone foreign droning on about pie graphs and the laws of supply and demand – but when Arya stays silent on the line (she tries hard to say something, but every time she opens her mouth no sound comes out), she begins to detect a hint of worry in his tone. “Arya, is that you? What’s wrong?” 

This time a sob forces its way out of her throat. “I…” 

Aegon curses the minute he hears her cry, a true testament to his concern for her. “Arya, dammit, tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt? Has something happened? Are you in trouble?” 

Arya angrily brushes her tears away and successfully manages to choke out a few more words. “No, but I… I just… _Egg_ … I need…” 

Aegon swears louder on the phone. “Where are you right now?” 

“At… at school. I skipped… I skipped class…” 

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten. Don’t go anywhere else, okay? I promise, I’ll be there soon.” 

When Aegon eventually reaches her school, Arya has calmed down somewhat and is now feeling embarrassed over her little crying episode on the phone. Her eyes are all swollen and puffy, and though she has given up crying altogether, she still feels like a mess. But Aegon doesn’t seem to care, and the minute he sees the look on her face, he quickly envelops her into a hug, one that is strong and warm and makes Arya feel, even for just a moment, that there is safety in his arms. 

She clings to him for a long time, neither of them saying a word, but finally Aegon finds the courage to ask, “What happened?”

Arya lets go of him, and gingerly sits herself down on the bleachers, eyes studiously fixed to her shoelaces. “My friend died this morning,” she says in a voice barely more than a whisper. She ignores Aegon’s sudden intake of breath and continues, “His name was Mycah. He liked burgers and football and all kinds of stuff. He was baking buddies with Hot Pie and he was supposed to inherit his father’s meat shop the minute he graduates, but now he won’t be able to do that because he’s dead. He’s my friend but now he’s dead. And it’s all my fault.” 

Aegon looks at her, his brows knitted together in concern. “Don’t say that. How can it possibly be your fault?” 

“But it’s true,” Arya chokes out, tears threatening to fall from her eyelashes for the second time that day. “It’s all my fault. He was walking home last night when a drunk driver crashed into him. But he wasn’t just any drunk driver. He was Joffrey’s driver, the one he likes to call “dog”. Don’t you get it? This is it. This is the price that I have to pay for sending Cersei Lannister’s precious son to juvie and getting him kicked out of school. This is his way of saying, _We’re even now, Arya Stark.”_  

“It was an accident, Arya,” Aegon tells her softly, and without pausing to think about it, he offers her his hand. Arya takes it gratefully, squeezing it tightly as though it is a lifeline, and never lets go. 

“But I’ll never know for sure, will I? I’ll always wake up with his blood on my hands and the knowledge that I’m responsible for his death. I’ll never find peace in my life. And I will always, _always_ blame myself for what happened.” 

“Oh, Arya,” Aegon says with a sigh, wishing with all his heart that he could make her understand that none of this is her fault. “It was an accident,” he repeats. 

But Arya only looks down at the floor and hugs her knees to her chest in silence. 

After a few minutes, Aegon gets up, and without letting go of her hand, motions for her to follow him. “Where are we going?” she asks him dully, not wanting to move from her spot for fear that the hole where her heart should be would only grow larger. 

“We need to properly send your friend off to heaven, and there’s only one place I know where we can do that.” 

Arya frowns. “Mycah doesn’t believe in heaven.” 

“Even so,” Aegon says, smiling gently at her. “Would you really want to risk it? We need to give him a nice farewell party. Come on.” 

Aegon’s smile proves too hard to resist, and eventually Arya finds herself following him back to his car. Aegon fends off her questions as to where they will be going and only laughs at her, and Arya is grateful for that, grateful that he isn’t looking at her with pity in his eyes, but mostly she’s grateful that he isn’t treating her like something fragile even though for all intents and purposes, she really did act like a stupid damsel-in-distress a few minutes ago. 

The moment they reach their destination though, Arya’s mouth drops open in shock. “ _This_ is your big surprise?” she exclaims, staring at the familiar blue-green walls and its blinking M logo, and for a moment, she is back to her old self again, and Aegon is glad. “You took me to a goddamn Manderly’s Meat Pie diner?” 

Aegon grins at her before ushering her out of the car and inside the restaurant. “Hey, Manderly’s Meat Pie is the best diner in Westeros, I’ll have you know,” he proudly tells her, pretending to take offense at her words. “And, since you and I are friends now, I’ll let you in on a little secret. They serve the best happy meat pies you’ll ever taste in your life.” 

Arya scoffs at him. “What are you talking about? My family’s been friends with the Manderly’s for years – in fact, one of my best friends is a Manderly –so I have it on good authority that there’s no such thing as a happy meat pie.” 

“Oh, you poor ignorant soul!” Aegon cries out, looking at her in mock horror. “How dare you doubt the existence of the legendary happy meat pie?” 

They take a secluded booth in the corner, and when the waitress comes in to get their order, Aegon whispers something in her ear, and a moment later, she comes back bearing a tray filled with two cans of beer and a huge plate of Manderly’s special meat pie. 

Arya stares at their table in confusion, but doesn’t say a word when Aegon opens one can of beer and dumps its entire contents on top of the meat pie. He allows the liquid to soak into the pie for a few seconds, and then when he’s finally satisfied, he sticks a fork in it and offers it to Arya. “Ladies first,” he says. 

She scrunches up her eyebrows in response. “That looks disgusting,” she exclaims, dubiously eyeing the food in front of her as though it might bite her. 

“Oh, c’mon. You like beer, don’t you? Take a bite and prepare to be amazed.” 

Arya isn’t easily reassured, especially since this is coming from the guy who likes to eat fish fingers dipped in custard, but decides that since she came all the way out here with him, she might as well go for it. She takes one bite, and even though she is conscious of Aegon’s heavy stare as he patiently waits for her reaction, she can’t stop her eyes from widening. 

It tastes delicious. She doesn’t know if it’s the bitter taste of the alcohol combined with the hearty flavor of the meat, or if it has something to do with the company she has with her now, but somehow, it works. It is a pleasant surprise in a day filled with unexpected news and sad revelations, and as she sits there savoring the richness of the meat pie, Arya can’t help but think that somehow, this doesn’t just taste like weird pie to her. Somehow, it tastes like happiness, like cold winter nights spent snuggling in front of the fireplace with her siblings, like the feel of the wind on her hair as she sits balanced on top of the branches of her family’s ancient tree, like that first moment when she and Aegon heard their song on the radio. It tastes like something Mycah would have made, like something he would have liked and would have forced Arya to eat during one of their impromptu food trips after school, and against her will, Arya finds her vision suddenly blurring with tears. 

Aegon holds her hand as she cries, and in that moment, she is sure that she loves him.

 

* * *

 

The revelation of her growing attraction to him forces Arya to seek refuge in the Brotherhood Without Banners, a small, hidden pub downtown that Arya only heard about once from Harwin, the son of her father’s chauffer. She isn’t supposed to be out on a Saturday night without her parents’ express permission, but Arya sneaks out of her room all the same and bribes Rickon to cover for her. 

And now she’s sitting slumped on a barstool with a huge tankard of beer in her hands, thinking about a boy with eyes as deep as the sea and a smile as bright as starlight. And that boy will never be hers, a small voice at the back of her head whispers. He will forever be Sansa’s and there is nothing she can do about it.

But things aren’t supposed to work that way. Aegon is so far from the type of men Arya usually finds herself attracted to, it’s not even funny. (The last man she had a crush on was her substitute French teacher, the tall guy with the cool white-and-red hair, the one who called her his best student despite the fact that Arya really sucked at French, and the one who she later learned was actually a foreign assassin gone rogue, and is now being hunted by selected members of the Italian mafia.)

So by virtue of logic and common sense, Arya isn’t supposed to like Aegon. She’s supposed to fall in love with tough-looking men with complex family issues and a craving for danger, men with pierced eyebrows and bloodied knuckles, men who go to underground fight clubs and midnight car races, men who will run away with her and make her mother and father cry with shame. She most definitely shouldn’t be falling for a guy with a nice smile and an equally nice, respectable family, a guy who owns fancy cars and looks comfortable in a tux, and a guy who will one day rule the world with enough money and power to last him a lifetime. And the fact that he is also her sister’s boyfriend is just the cherry on top of the cake. 

Arya groans in misery and finishes her beer in one long drink. “What a fucking joke,” she mutters to herself. 

“What was that?” a voice behind her suddenly says. 

Arya whips her head towards the sound, only to discover a cute looking blond man with blue eyes so dark they almost appear purple – for one horrible second she thinks he’s Aegon, but when she blinks again she knows that she’s wrong and maybe, just maybe, she’s finally on her way to getting drunk – sitting next to her on the mostly abandoned bar counter. He flushes red and gives her a sheepish smile once she glances his way, and to her annoyance, Arya finds herself on the verge of smiling back. 

 _That’s it,_ she tells herself. _I think I’m really drunk now._  

“Hi, I’m Edric. Sorry about, um, what I said earlier. It’s just that I can’t help but notice you sitting here all by yourself,” the guy next to her says, rubbing his neck self-consciously and offering her a hand for her to shake. Arya blinks at him, because seriously, what self-respecting guy who wants to get shagged tonight would willingly try to shake hands with her in a bar? 

But she takes his offered hand anyway, and suddenly that familiar lonely feeling that’s been plaguing her lately sets in, and she finds herself blurting out, “I’m Arya.” 

Immediately she wishes she could take it back, but already Edric Who-Really-Likes-to-Shake-People’s-Hands is smiling at her, and it is a smile that even in her slightly inebriated state, reminds her of Aegon, and slowly she feels herself starting to relax. 

“Are you here waiting for someone?” he asks her. 

“No. There’s no one left here in the world who loves me,” Arya complains to him, slouching further in her seat and narrowly managing to avoid hitting her head on the counter. “Edric, are we friends now? Can you buy me another beer? Because I don’t think I brought enough money for another one, and I still have to go home and pay for cab fare ‘cause I didn’t tell anyone else at home where I was going, and I’m really tired now and thirsty and I want a beer. Can I get another beer?” 

Edric stares at her in a mixture of amusement and concern, his eyebrows drawn close together in a way that looks almost endearing. “Err, maybe you should slow down?” he suggests. “Or maybe I should just drive you home. I don’t mind, really. It’s not safe for a girl your age to be out at this time of the night.” 

Arya growls at him and slams her empty tankard of beer on the counter with a bang. She then motions towards the bartender, who looks like he’s trying his best not to laugh at the two of them, and loudly demands, “Another beer please! My friend here is paying!” 

The bartender looks at Edric with one raised eyebrow, but he only stares helplessly back at him. After a moment though, he sighs and gives the bartender a subtle nod. “Alright, Arya. Just one beer to celebrate our newfound friendship,” he relents. “But after this, I really think I ought to take you home.” 

But six glasses of beer and two accidents later, one wherein Arya narrowly avoids barfing on Edric and one where she bangs her head on the sink on her way out of the ladies’ room, Arya still hasn’t left her barstool. She’s clutching Edric’s arm now, laughing hysterically at him and calling him “Father” – something she insisted on doing the moment she learned that his nickname is Ned, the same as her father’s – and by this time, she’s just about said everything to him. Edric now knows that her favorite color is black and white, even though black technically isn’t a color; he knows that her favorite brother is named Jon; and he knows, and can probably recite it blindfolded if asked, about all the pranks Arya has pulled on everyone starting from that time she dyed Sansa’s hair black up to the point when she managed to convince her parents for three weeks straight that Robb is dating the other Jeyne – Theon’s Jeyne, not Robb’s Jeyne. 

But the one thing she doesn’t mention, the one topic that’s taboo, is Aegon. She doesn’t say his name, doesn’t mention that she’s in love with the one person who has managed to make Sansa smile post-Joffrey, and she most certainly doesn’t tell him that just the day before, she had almost kissed him in the middle of a heated match of Scrabble, with Sansa just several rooms away from them, and if she hadn’t turned away and caught herself just in time, he would have let her. 

So when Edric Dayne, who she later learns is actually the nephew of the guy who owns the Brotherhood pub, takes her home thirty minutes later and asks her if she’d like to go out with him some time, Arya hesitates only for a fraction of a second before saying yes.

She knows it isn’t fair to him – Ned looks like a nice guy and she’ll only end up breaking his heart the way Aegon broke (and is continuing to break) hers – but at that point, Arya is too far gone to even care.

 

* * *

 

She comes home one Friday after school only to find that Aegon has already beaten her there. He grins at her from his vantage position on the couch and holds out two CDs in front of her, waving it back and forth in the air with an excitement that would have put Summer to shame. 

“Hey. Guess what? I finally got my hands on those new, action-shooter games we’ve been dying to play since last month,” Aegon proudly tells her. “Wanna try it now?” 

Arya gives a small shake of her head and narrowly avoids looking him in the eye. “Sorry, I can’t. I have plans.” 

Aegon glowers at her. “What plans?” he asks her. 

“I’m going out tonight.” 

“What? But we always spend Friday night together! Even Sansa knows that.” 

“Well, tonight is a special night, babe,” Sansa shouts happily, emerging out of her room the minute she hears the front door slam shut. “Because tonight, my dear sister is finally going out on a date.” 

Aegon stares at her, looking dumbstruck. “What?” he faintly hears himself say. 

“I know! I couldn’t believe it either when Arya first told me the good news,” Sansa chatters on, oblivious to the odd look on her boyfriend’s face and the equally odd way her sister is acting. “What’s the guy’s name again? Eric something?”

“Edric Dayne,” Arya mumbles. 

“Well, have fun on your date! Tell me all the details as soon as you get home, okay? I want to hear every juicy detail. Don’t leave anything out.” 

Arya mutters a hasty “Yes” just so Sansa would stop nagging her, and pretends not to see the hurt look on Aegon’s face as she brushes past him on her way to her room.

 

* * *

 

She arrives at the Merman’s Court, the fancy new seafood restaurant in town also owned by the Manderlys, exactly five minutes after Aegon and Sansa gets there, and takes a seat next to Ned, who smiles at her and gives her a quick peck on the lips. 

“Hi, sorry for being late,” she says, mostly for Ned’s benefit. 

“It’s no problem,” Aegon replies smoothly, flashing her his customary smile. “It gave Sansa and I plenty of time to get to know your boyfriend.” 

Arya frowns at that, but doesn’t let herself rise to the bait. As if the situation isn’t awkward enough. And now Aegon is purposefully making things difficult just because he can. _Asshole,_ she thinks furiously, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from blurting out something that she might later on regret.

She wishes she could be anywhere but here. After all, the whole point of dating Ned is so she can get over Aegon, a task that doesn’t seem to be going too well considering the fact that the object of her desire is sitting just across from her, next to his gorgeous and wonderful girlfriend, who just so happens to be Arya’s sister. 

But Sansa has been dreaming of going on a double date with Arya ever since she’d turned eight, and now that the opportunity has finally presented itself, Arya finds herself trapped in a nightmare entirely of her sister’s own design. After all, there’s no saying “No” to Sansa, not when she’s got that scary, calm look in her eye that says she’s only one step further from doing something so wickedly devious and completely unSansa-like, Arya won’t even know what’s coming when it hits her. 

So Arya pastes a stiff smile on her face and forces herself to suffer through the awkwardness of the night, because she knows that this date means a lot to Sansa and Ned, and she’s not cruel and too much of an asshat to try to ruin things for them. She’s trying – she really is – but Aegon is not making things easier and every time he looks at her, her traitorous heart betrays her, and it just makes her want to throw things. 

When the food finally arrives, Arya takes it as a small blessing. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I already ordered for you,” Ned tells her with a shy smile. 

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” And at first, it really is. But when Arya sees what’s on her plate, a strange look comes over her face. 

Luckily for her, Aegon saves her. “Want to trade meals with me? The baked fish looks good, but I kind of regret ordering it now,” he says as casually as possible, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that betrays his true feelings, and out of the corner of his eye, he shoots Ned an angry look. 

Arya smiles at him gratefully, her earlier thoughts about him now forgotten. “Sure. Here, have mine.” 

Edric Dayne watches the exchange of dinner plates with a crestfallen look and a blush. “Sorry, did you not like what I ordered for you?” he stammers out. 

Aegon sighs, and this time he no longer tries to hide the pissed off expression on his face. “Arya is allergic to squid, you idiot,” he snaps at Ned. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

All the color drains out of Ned’s face. “What? Oh my god, Arya, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know!” he exclaims, looking thoroughly mortified at his mistake. 

Arya smiles weakly at him. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.” 

Sansa quickly praises her boyfriend for remembering something as trivial as that, but just then, Arya’s phone buzzes, signaling an incoming text message. She surreptitiously glances at it and blinks. It’s from Aegon. 

 _Your boyfriend is a complete idiot,_ he’d written, right next to an emoticon of a fire-breathing dragon.

She rolls her eyes at him and kicks him hard under the table, prompting him to swear loudly. Sansa stops in the middle of the story she’s telling Ned and asks her boyfriend if he’s alright. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Aegon tells her, shooting her a well-practiced smile. But a second later, Arya feels something weird brushing her shin, and it takes her a moment to realize that it’s Aegon. She kicks him on the foot as hard as she can, wishing for the first time that she’d worn something pointy in lieu of her usual sneakers. 

He kicks right back. She kicks him again. And that’s how they end up playing footsie under the table, in the middle of the worst double date in the history of mankind, and though a tiny part of Arya thinks that she ought to be ashamed of herself – her boyfriend is sitting right next to her and her sister is just across the table, for fuck’s sake – but for some reason, she can’t bring herself to stop. 

It’s too late now, this thing that she and Aegon has unknowingly set into motion, and there’s no way to stop it. All they can do now is watch and wait for the aftermath.

 

* * *

 

Arya’s relationship with her sister is tested one morning when she waltzes in on Sansa’s room uninvited and sees her furiously in the middle of packing her things. Clothes are strewn everywhere – on her bed, on the floor, on top of her dresser – and for a moment, Arya wonders if she has stumbled into an alternate universe. 

Sansa is rarely disorganized – in fact, one can always count on her to be tidy and obsessive compulsive when it comes to her things – but today, Arya is surprised to see her room in such a mess. “Are you going somewhere?” she asks her sister as she shoves one pile of clothes away so there’d be room for her to sit on the mattress. 

“Yeah. My ballet instructor just called and said that I’m to be a replacement for Margaery in that huge production they’re doing in the Eyrie this weekend. Apparently, Marg injured her leg or something, and now I’ve been chosen to do her part. It’s not the main lead role or anything, but it is pretty huge, and I’m actually really excited to do it,” Sansa tells her happily as she rearranges her hair into a bun and continues on her mad quest to shove as many clothes as possible inside her suitcase. “I know Aunt Lysa lives somewhere in the Eyrie, but I’ve never actually been there, you know? This trip will be so awesome, I can feel it. Do you think I need to pack an extra-ski mask for Aegon? Wait, on second thought, I think I’ll just ask him himself.” 

Arya scrunches up her face as the implications of Sansa’s words slowly sinks in. “Wait, you’re taking Egg with you to the Eyrie?” she blurts out in disbelief. 

Sansa gives her a look. “Well, duh. Of course he’s coming with me,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“And he said yes?”

“I haven’t talked to him yet, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sansa replies absentmindedly as she continues to rummage around in her closet. “But it’s practically a given that he’ll come. This could be like our first trip as a couple or something. It’ll be great.” She pauses for a second and shoots Arya another confused look. “But why are you so interested about all this anyway?” 

Arya bites her lip. “It’s just that…” she starts to say. “He promised to take me for a ride in his father’s yacht this weekend. We’re supposed to go fishing and stuff.” 

“Fishing? Are you kidding me?” Sansa exclaims, looking exasperated at the idea. “What sane teenage girl spends an entire weekend doing something as boring as fishing? Anyway, you can go some other time with Aegon, because he’s coming with me to the Eyrie.” 

Arya scowls and crosses her arms over her chest at the injustice of it all. “But you haven’t even asked him yet! And besides, that’s totally not fair. He promised me first!” she points out. 

“So?” 

“What do you mean ‘so’? I asked him to spend the weekend with me first, so it’s only fair that _you_ cancel your plans with him.” 

Sansa sighs and shakes her head at Arya like she is a child in desperate need of a lecture. “Arya, he’s my boyfriend,” she tells her patiently, and just like that, the argument is over before it has even begun. 

Arya wants to tell her sister, “But he’s my friend too!” but she knows it won’t make much of a difference in the long run because Sansa’s right. As long as Aegon is her boyfriend, nothing else matters, and there’s nothing Arya can say or do that would ever trump that. She hates how unfair that sounds, but what else can she do? Facts are facts. 

In the end though, it turns out that maybe Aegon is better as a friend than he is as a boyfriend, because the minute Sansa calls him to talk about their upcoming trip, Aegon doesn’t even hesitate to say no. “I promised Arya I’d spend the weekend with her first. Sorry,” is the only thing he offers by way of explanation, and though Sansa gets really pissed and screams at him into the phone and threatens to erase his entire existence from her life, all in the space of a few minutes, Aegon’s answer still remains the same. 

“I hope you’re happy now,” Sansa snarls at her. Arya knows that after a few days, once they’ve both had time to cool off, she and Sansa will be okay again – it’s always been that way between the two of them as far as she can remember – but still, she can’t help feeling awful knowing that she’s the reason her sister’s trip is now ruined. But even stranger still, there’s a small part of her – that awful, competitive, vindictive part of her that she likes to pretend doesn’t exist – that’s glad that in the end, Aegon has chosen her.

 

* * *

 

“Is Sansa still mad at you?”

“Yeah. Says we’ll talk as soon as she gets back.” 

“Don’t worry. She won’t break up with you.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

“Because I’m her sister and I know her better than anyone. She loves you, you know.” 

There’s a long pause. Then he whispers, “I know. But I’m not sure I want her to.” 

They’re both lying on their backs, floating side by side like a couple of stray leaves drifting gently in the wind, their fingers laced together, their eyes firmly fixed on the night sky. Around them there is nothing but silence. 

Arya closes her eyes, the rush of the ocean filling her ears, and imagines that she is a part of the sea, part of something greater than herself, because out here, secluded from everyone and everything, she can at least pretend. She can pretend that she’s not Arya Stark, the girl idiotic enough to fall for her sister’s boyfriend, and he’s not Aegon Targaryen, the one guy in her life she can never have. Out here they’re just two people, looking for a semblance of peace and tranquility in their lives, and for a little while at least, they can shed off their identities and make believe. 

But now, with just a few, simple words _(“I know. But I’m not sure I want her to”),_ the spell is broken. 

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and slowly allows herself to sink underwater, hoping to delay the moment when she’d have to face Aegon again after what he’s just said, but Aegon doesn’t let her. 

He pulls her back to the surface, one hand on her waist and one hand wrapped around her neck, and for a long time, he just stares at her. There’s a questioning look in his eyes that vanishes as quickly as it comes, and when he closes the distance between them and leans in, Arya panics and shouts, “What are you doing?” 

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Aegon whispers right before he kisses her.

 

* * *

 

For the next couple of days, Arya avoids Aegon like the plague. She ignores all his calls and text messages, stays in her room all night long, and when Friday night rolls around, she seeks refuge in the Brotherhood pub with Ned rather than stay at home and try to explain to her sister why her Friday night zombie marathon game with Aegon is now cancelled. 

But that very same night when she comes home, staggering drunk and with her hair smelling like smoke and beer piss, Bran stops her in the living room and tells her the bad news. “That Aegon guy just broke up with Sansa,” he informs her, and though his tone is gentle enough, the look he’s giving her is entirely too meaningful for someone who’s supposed to know nothing about the mess Arya has just found herself in, and Arya is quick to look away. 

Suddenly sober, she wastes no time in running up the stairs and into Sansa’s room, where she finds her sister curled up on her bed in a fetal position, a box of tissues and a tub of melted, uneaten ice cream close at hand. 

She looks up when she hears Arya come in, and though her nose is runny and her eyes are red from crying and there are mascara tracks on her cheeks, she still manages to look beautiful and perfect all at once. It is a talent only Sansa has, and Arya has often envied her for it. 

But not tonight though. Tonight, as she leans on Sansa’s bedroom door and watches her sister break down in a way she has only seen her do once, right after her messy break up with Joffrey, guilt immediately rises to her stomach and she prays to any god that might be listening that Sansa won’t see it written all over her face. 

“So you’ve heard then?” Sansa asks her, her voice hoarse from too much crying. 

Arya nods. “I’m so sorry, Sansa,” she murmurs. She wants to put her arms around her sister, the way Sansa had done when she was six and she’d stumbled home crying because all the other kids at school were teasing her and calling her “Arya Horseface”, but she’s afraid that just one touch from her and all the guilt and the heartache and the sin would pour out of her and then Sansa would know. 

A few more tears escape Sansa’s eyes. “How can he do this to me, Arya? After everything we’ve been through… How can it happen?” 

Arya shakes her head sadly and stares at the floor. “Life is not a song, Sansa.” 

“But I love him,” Sansa says in a voice so broken and plaintive it sends a pang deep in Arya’s chest. “ _I love him.”_

 _And that’s the problem, dear sister. So do I,_ Arya thinks to herself before finally walking away.

 

* * *

 

She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyes closed, with a cup of hungover tea Bran has been gracious enough to brew carefully balanced on one hand, when her phone rings again. It’s Aegon. 

Arya bites her lip and lets her finger hover on the screen for a few seconds before quickly pressing “Accept”. 

“Arya!” Aegon’s relieved voice fills her ear. “Thank god you finally picked up. I’ve been trying to call you for ages. I need… I need to tell you something.” 

“If it’s about you and Sansa breaking up, don’t bother. I already know,” Arya says wearily over the phone. “In fact, the whole house is in a state of emergency because of it. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Aegon sighs. “I’m sorry I messed things up with your sister,” he tells her. “But I can’t keep lying to her anymore. It isn’t fair.” 

“I wasn’t aware you were lying,” Arya replies faintly, wishing her heart didn’t react so badly at his words. 

She hears a slight crackle over the phone, and all too well she can imagine Aegon rubbing his forehead in distress – a bad habit of his. “I don’t… I don’t love Sansa that way. At first I tried to deny it, and then I thought… I thought that if I kept things going like before, my feelings would eventually change, but it didn’t work. And then when I became closer to _you –”_  

Arya lets out a frustrated noise at the back of her throat, successfully interrupting whatever words Aegon is about to say. She doesn’t want to hear this part. Having him say out loud that she’s the reason her sister is now in such a depressed state is too much for her to bear. 

But Aegon is nothing if not persistent. “Listen,” he starts again. “Can we meet? I think we need to talk.” 

“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t.” 

“Please, Arya. I really need to tell you –” 

“Whatever it is you want to say, you can tell me over the phone,” Arya replies firmly. It’s better this way, she thinks. If she sees Aegon in person, her resolve would only crumble, and she’d be even more of a traitorous sister than before. Besides, she thinks she can already guess what he’s about to say anyway. 

Aegon lets out a shaky breath. “Alright. If that’s want you want,” he says. “Arya, will you… Will you run away with me?” 

Whatever it is she’s expecting him to say, though, it is not this. “ _What?”_

“What happened this weekend, it wasn’t just a kiss for me. And that made me realize that I had to break things off with Sansa, because being with her… it’s not the same as being with you. And I like being with you. I like our Scrabble matches and our video game marathons and our constant arguments over nothing. When you started going out with Ned, I was miserable for weeks.” His voice wavers for a while, and that’s when Arya knows that he’s really trying hard to hold it together. “You drive me insane, Arya Stark, but I don’t mind. And I know things are difficult with you and Sansa right now, but I thought that… maybe… Well, maybe you and I can get away from all this for a while. We can go to the Free Cities, just for a few months, and wait until this whole thing with your family blows over, or we can go to Dorne, at my Uncle Oberyn’s –” 

“Aegon, stop,” Arya says, biting her lip so hard in an effort to stop herself from crying. “I can never run away with you, okay? You can’t just ask me to abandon everything and follow you off into the deep end. It doesn’t work like that. We can’t just run away and expect the world to magically solve our problems for us.” 

“But I love –” 

“I know.” 

“So what do we do now?” Aegon asks her, sounding as helpless as her over the phone. “Should we tell Sansa? Should I –” 

“I can’t tell Sansa, Egg. It will destroy her.” Arya closes her eyes and steels herself for what she’s about to say next. “And there’s no _we,_ Egg. We can never be together. It will never work.” 

“Yes, it will,” Aegon cries out, the frustration and heartbreak evident in his voice. “We’ll find a way, Arya. As long as we’re together -” 

“We can’t,” Arya says, her voice breaking. “If you’re asking me to choose between you and Sansa, I choose Sansa. I will _always_ choose Sansa.” 

“Even if it means you won’t be happy?” 

“Yes,” Arya says, knowing that she means it. 

“But why?” 

“Because Sansa is my sister and she’s part of my pack,” Arya confesses, knowing even as she says the words that Aegon will never understand. She wishes things like family and pack and honor means nothing to her, but she is too much of a Stark for that and there are just some things you can never unlearn. 

It takes a long time before Aegon replies, and when he does, his voice is so soft Arya has to strain to hear him over the phone. And for a moment, she’s glad that she’s not there to see the defeated and lost expression on his face. “I see,” he finally says. “Does this mean I won’t ever get to see you again?” 

“Yes.” 

Aegon doesn’t reply. 

“Egg?” This time it’s her voice that sounds broken and she’s completely unable to stop the tears from freely flowing down her cheeks. “I wish I had met you first.” 

“Me too.” 

“Goodbye, Aegon Targaryen.” And those are the last words he hears from her. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Epilogue**

**_(Seven Years Later)_ **

****

Aegon trudges along the street, soaked to the bone after his unfortunate accident in the canal (he never should have listened to Duck when he told Aegon that he could drive a speed boat), and suppresses the urge to scream and wave his fists in the air. 

He likes Braavos well enough – it has quaint little shops, crooked streets that you can get lost in for hours, and multicolored bridges that span the entire city – but ever since he got here, he’d been nothing but unlucky. His flight had been delayed, there’d been a mix-up at his hotel so he and Duck had been forced to spend an entire night in an old, ramshackle guesthouse built on stilts, and now this. Perhaps he should have taken that business trip to Skagos instead. It’s starting to sound more and more promising by the minute. 

One of those cute, outdoor cafes with a seaside view catches his eye, and right then and there, Aegon decides that he might as well grab a coffee while waiting for Duck to finish cleaning up that whole boating fiasco. 

He finds an empty table and motions for the waitress to take his order, but before anyone can approach him, a commotion from one of the nearby tables distracts him. 

He hears shouting and scraped chairs, but when he finally turns his head towards the sound, all the air leaves his lungs, and he feels as though someone has just sucker punched him in the stomach. 

It’s _her._  

Seven years have gone by in a flash, but he can still recognize her even at just a glance. Her hair is still short, but it’s neater and more modern somehow, artfully arranged and sleeked back in a way that makes her look more mature, and she’s wearing that familiar scowl on her face, the one that says she’s really pissed and is just one step closer to killing someone. 

He is just in time to see her throw a drink at someone’s face, and suddenly Aegon is reminded of the first night they met, and unconsciously, a smile makes its way to his lips. 

Aegon watches the man with the stained shirt and dripping hair walk away, cursing and muttering something about “bloody Starks” and “deranged she-wolves”, and is amazed to find his body moving with a will of its own. He knows what he should do in this moment  - he has to walk away and leave her alone and respect the decision that she made on that awful Friday night several years ago – but for some reason, he can’t find it in himself to ignore this chance encounter. Arya Stark had always been his one and only weakness, and apparently, the years had done nothing to change that. There are some things, it seems, that will never change. 

“Was that a Frey just now?” he finds himself saying as he carefully approaches her. And when those familiar gray eyes land on him, he swears he can feel his heart stop for just a second. 

Arya looks at him for the longest time, the expression on her face ranging from surprise to wonder to incredulity, until finally she smiles, the brilliance of it enough to stun Aegon into silence. “Yes,” she says. 

Then she smirks at him and adds, “Nice shirt. Did someone throw a drink at you too?” 

Aegon shakes his head no. There is a long pause.

“Hey, would you…” He swallows nervously, feeling his pulse race and his heart beating wildly in his chest, before finding the courage to ask, “Would you like to have a drink with me? To, ah, replace the one you just threw away?” 

“No thanks,” she replies, her words like daggers finding their marks on Aegon’s chest, but before he can allow his crushing disappointment to swallow him whole, she speaks again. 

“But there’s a Manderly’s Meat Pie diner just around the corner, the first of its kind in Braavos, and I heard they make excellent happy meat pies. Wanna check it out?” 

And just like that, all those wasted years between them are immediately stripped away, and he feels like they can finally start again.

 

 

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. This is so sappy I'm actually a little embarrassed to post this. *hides face behind hands* 
> 
> And I really need to stop writing Sansa as the poor girl in the love triangle, 'cause I know she's better than that. (In my head though, she ends up with Willas, who is, of course, a patron of the arts, and who immediately falls in love with her after seeing her perform in "The Nutcracker".)
> 
> I almost didn't put in the epilogue, you know, 'cause I'm feeling in the mood to create a sad ending, but in the end, I couldn't resist. (It's the inner romantic in me, I'm telling you.)


End file.
